


Only The Cat Saw

by lovesrainscent



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-14
Updated: 2013-08-14
Packaged: 2017-12-23 12:31:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/926456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovesrainscent/pseuds/lovesrainscent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Originally written in 2004 as a response to Tegan's 2nd Person POV challenge for WIKTT.  There is also a sequel (written in 2004 too) called Time In A Bottle.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Only The Cat Saw

_Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters mentioned here, JK Rowling does and I'm only playing with them, gently, I swear. And Ashley Wolff owns the story and title of a lovely children's book "Only the Cat Saw" to which this story bears little resemblance._

 

You couldn't believe your eyes! You swiveled your ears forward with great interest and crouched a little lower with your tail curled comfortably around you. Of all the people this castle contained you certainly never expected to find him here. Realizing it was most improper, yet unable to resist your overwhelming curiosity, you peer intently forward, straining to catch a glimpse of what he was up to. Why had he come here? What business had he in this place? Surely he had a right to come and go here, you'd both always been made most welcome, but still, why?

Just as you suspected, he stopped in front of the mirror. It was a funny piece of glass that often showed mice when you knew good and well that there were none, because you couldn't smell or hear them. But nonetheless it was often fun to slip up here and watch the mice-that-weren't-mice and the chipmunks-that-weren't-chipmunks scurry around tantalizingly, just out of reach behind that glass. You found yourself padding up here on silent feet at night more often now. You couldn't explain it, but seeing these simple things at night, things that it was easy and safe to wish for - a mouse, a warm lap, a bowl of cream, made the daytime easier.

When you passed that glass in the daytime it showed things that made your heart ache - companions that had come and gone, young wizards whose lives had been taken before they'd even been bearded, old wizards who didn't have the sense God gave a goose.

And children. Far too often in the daytime hours that damnable mirror showed children. Children who should still be laughing and playing about but they never would again. Children who should have been safe in these halls you padded up and down so silently at night except that they had been failed by those trusted to keep them safe. You had failed them.

And worst of all, sometimes the blasted thing showed a baby in his mother's arms - a baby that would never be.

What's this? He's reaching forward now, tracing an outline in the mirror. You duck and strain your head forward trying to see.

Oh my.

You recognize her face.

Oh my.

You wait, patient as a cat for that's what you are. Does he wish her harm? No, not at all. See how the two-in-the-glass embrace so warmly. See how his hand lingers on the glass, wishing it were truly her hair he were stroking; wishing he was the lucky wizard-in-the-glass. Oh no, he doesn't wish her harm at all.

You've seen his heart's desire and you're actually most astonished with yourself. Are you truly thinking of working to bring it to pass? It would be most improper, most improper indeed. He is a professor, she his student. But you smile a cat-smile and have to will yourself not to purr in order not to give yourself away to him. She won't be his student for long, oh no, N.E.W.T.s are coming up soon, very soon indeed.

Who would have ever thought that you would meddle? But all's fair in love and war, no? And you know quite clearly that the war still rages on. It has claimed so many young lives that you have cherished. The one lost a year ago still burns your memory from the sheer injustice of it all.

The young man and wife lost seventeen years ago still burns your memory. You remember her babe, can still recall the sweet-milk smell of his baby breath.

But there were ones lost even before then, weren't there?

Fair-haired boys who never got the attention they needed from their fathers or their friends were lost to the Dark Lord (your claws flex silently as you think his name.) And a sallow-faced boy with dark hair and a darker disposition was lost before it all began, wasn't he?

Your muscles would ache to be in this position so long if you weren't a cat. But you are and you wait patiently, so patiently until he leaves. You listen, ears pricked forward until you're sure his footsteps have left the very bottom of the staircase and headed down the hall.

He's gone now and the room is empty. It would be safe to Transfigure but you choose to stay in your cat-form and think cat-thoughts a while longer. They are far less painful than other thoughts, other memories.

When you are a cat, you can remain detached from it all. You can wonder, purely from a hypothetical standpoint, if it would have made any difference at all - if you could have made any difference at all. Surely, he arrived at your school knowing more Dark curses than most seventh years but did you do all you could to make it a little better?

Guiltily (but not too guiltily, because cats don't have much use for guilt) you realize that you didn't do enough. You didn't stand up to the scions of rich and respected families with names like Black and Potter. You let them get away with far too much. And you didn't meddle in the affairs of other Houses, didn't point it out to his Head of House that the boy's own housemates didn't seem to stand up for him. You let your own pride in your House's accomplishments and disinterest in the affairs of others drive him into the arms of those with hearts darker than his.

You think idly back to the wizard-in-the-glass. His arms were bare, smooth, not a mark upon them. Did your own inaction drive him to put the Mark there - to identify with those that would have him when so many at his own school would not? If you had insisted on a stop to the bullying, at the cost of punishing your own star students and athletes, could that have made a difference?

You've put off Transfiguring long enough. Painful though it will be, you have to go back. You yawn and stretch and fluidly regain your shape, adjust your square spectacles and your hat. With a start you realize what you've done. You're on the wrong side of the room, you'll have to cross in front of 'it' to get to the door. You could Transfigure back to cat-form and walk ten feet but that seems preposterous - it's just a mirror after all.

You try to keep your gaze fixed on the door, but a flicker of motion from the glass catches your eye and you can't help yourself - you turn to look.

There's a twenty-five year younger 'you' standing there looking not quite so stern and severe. 'You' are holding a floppy old hat over a very pale and frightened looking little boy with greasy dark hair and black eyes. You place the hat on his head and he clutches the sides of the stool in fear, then the hat shrieks out, 'Gryffindor!' Your own House table erupts with applause and welcomes him warmly to their ranks. You see him smile up at you and you smile back and wink at him as he walks to the table to join his new friends and family.

Funny, you've never seen that one before.

The scene flickers and wavers and with an ache in your heart, you realize what's coming next - an all too familiar scene. With a swoosh of your robes you turn resolutely towards the door before you can see a certain auburn-haired Transfiguration professor embrace a Gryffindor Girl with hair that is darker and sleeker than that of the current Head Girl, and wearing robes that were fashionable about sixty years ago.

Too often in his battle for the hearts and minds of wizarding-kind, Albus overlooks the hearts. You decide it's time to meddle.

"Miss Granger?"

"Yes, Professor McGonagall?"

"I see, that as usual, you have finished the assignment first. I need you to run an errand for me. Please return these parchments to Professor Snape. Also, I believe he will be inventorying the Potions' storeroom this evening. Inquire if you may be of assistance. If he would like your help, you are excused from the Transfiguration homework this evening as you clearly do not need the practice."

You turn and scowl at her snickering compatriots. "As for you two, Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley, I see that you have managed to Transfigure lumps of clay into even more unidentifiable lumps of clay. It seems you find this amusing. I do not. Please report to Mr. Filch for detention this evening." They groan but you ignore it.

It's a start. If you can keep the three of them separated and at least allow Severus some time alone with her, why, who knows what may happen. And if Albus should question you about it, you'll be sure to look like the cat who ate the canary.


End file.
